My Story
My story begins in New Orleans, where the air shimmered with powdered sugar from café au lait-dipped beignets, and generations of my family measured love in slow-simmered roux and crispy, golden-fried seafood feasts.
My childhood was a sensory symphony - of standing on tiptoe at weathered kitchen counters, watching my grandmother's hands fold pecans into pralines still warm from the pot. Of great-aunts sliding trays of petits fours, their glazes catching light like stained-glass windows, while Mardi Gras king cakes blazed with purple, green, and gold sugar on our table. It was here, surrounded by these women and their edible heirlooms, that I learned food could be more than sustenance.
I studied their hands - the way my grandmother could judge butter's doneness by its scent, how my aunt Teddy's thumb knew the exact give of perfect bread. These skilled artisans taught me their quiet alchemy: how to coax magic from flour, how to transform the simple into the extraordinary.
Through their tutelage, I became my family's "dessert person" - the keeper of recipes and rituals. And in that sacred role, I discovered baking's deepest truth: it's where golden butter, crystalline sugar, and generations of memories transform into something greater than the sum of their parts.
That revelation is now Beurre & Bean - where every cake is a layered conversation between my grandmother's wooden spoon and my modern whisk, between French Quarter mornings and your celebration. It's my childhood, my lineage, personified in pastry.
Because every cake I make is really just a love letter - to the women who taught me, to the city that flavored me, and to the magic that happens when tradition meets imagination in a bowl.
Whiskfully Yours,
Ronnie | Beurre & Bean